Once
by B. A. Ware
Summary: Every story has an end. Every hero puts down his arms at some point. But all those adventures are determined by the past. By something, no matter how small, that started the chain of events and defined the world. Something that was... Once...
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Hunger Games, nor any of the characters, places or items it includes. I do not want to infringe on any ownership laws, but simply honour Suzanne Collins with my ideas, which were inspired by her splendid story.

This disclaimer is valid for any chapter posted under this title.

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><p>Panem.<p>

The nation constantly plagued with turmoil, war and destruction...

But with it came adaptation and regrowth.

No matter how many different names it took upon itself, change seemed to be a constant factor in those troubled lands, locked in the cycle between the downfall and glory.

The Dark Days, for instance. Marking the end of one era, they weren't as swift as future generations made them to be. The change in the power itself would be enough to give any historian a headache.

Still, to understand the future, it is required to know the past. You have to know the previous state of matter, to appreciate all the subtle changes in your daily lifestyle. Without the knowledge of the past, everything would appear to stay at a standstill, not changing one bit. Without it, neither now, nor the future, would seem clear or even meaningful.

That's why it's paramount and really, _logical_ to start at the start of the cycle.

When the smoke cleared and the Dark Days came to an end, revealing smouldering wreckage of the previous kingdom, there wasn't a single power rising to lead the survivors. The war which resulted in near complete destruction of an entire culture began once more, descending into a series of mind games, blackmails, intrigues and murders.

The previous superpower reverted into medieval times, with mad lords of barren wastelands squabbling over what was left on the table, and scared, tormented warriors roaming the land, joining anyone who gave them even an illusion of purpose.

Slowly, but surely, the already dying country slipped further into darkness. It's illness furthered but those few blinded by the glorious prospect of ruling a tabula rasa, shaping it into their own image.

It was only when one of the warring groups backed away completely, that someone noticed two things. One was that the conflict simply couldn't escalate any further, or even last any longer, or there wouldn't be anyone left to rebuild. Second was that there wasn't much more needed in those times, to break someone's will.

With that thought in mind, the self proclaimed king locked himself away and started to plot a plot that would save the land, but damn the citizens.

Time passed, with the leader keeping to himself, seemingly too tired to play the old game. In reality, he secretly sold everything valuable he could find in his land, swaying every single person able to fight to join his cause. When he finally reappeared to stand before the army he amassed, he had only one command to give.

"Bring me their children," he said to them, before returning to his keep, because that was enough to change the course of history.

Days passed one after the other, until they turned into weeks. During that time more and more children simply vanished from the face of the earth. When finally a full month passed, the concerned parents learned the gruesome truth.

_Give up._

That was the message sent across the continent.

Give up, for there is no hope. None, if we continue this way.

For every day you linger, your children will fight over crumbs and leftovers, just like you are over this barren earth, showing you the only way this conflict can end. It will continue as long as necessary, or until none of them remain...

At first no one believed, and no lord cared enough for their own people to listen to the initial warning. That changed when the body parts started to come in like clockwork. Then, all the resources that were used to strive for power, were suddenly turned against those that craved for it so much. Revolts, riots and chaos blackened the skies with smoke.

The terrifying message rang true across the country, and the nation nearly killed itself, attempting to bow before the blood-stained king. Twenty three days. The span of time from when the message was sent, and the moment the nation was on its knees. Twenty three deaths that would change everything.

The king had won, but he was far from pleased.

Having everyone at his beck and call wasn't enough for him. He had to be certain that they would be subservient until the ends of time. That's why he carved his lands into twelve pieces, demanding that each and every year, on the day the first children were taken, a boy and a girl were presented.

Those twenty four would recreate the first massacre, fighting amongst each other. He, as a righteous ruler, would spare the last one. That was the cost for peace. A bargain prolonged every year by the spilled blood.

No one dared to rebel, because they were made sure that the Games would still be held. If that happened, instead of taking two children from every district, the district that stepped out of line would provide all the participants.

And so was the origin of Panem.

The troublesome land was dealt with, shackled and put under the control of a single man. Peace was restored, with a bloody guardian keeping watch.

The deal.

The bloody ritual.

The Hunger Games had begun.

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><p>AN. Had the idea for this story for quite some time now, but there was always something else keeping me busy. Now, that the Hunger Games movie came out, I decided that it is a perfect opportunity to start this story. I don't know how often this story will be updated, but this prologue is a promise that this story will be completed.<p>

Our Dancing Days, the one who introduced me to the Hunger Games, agreed to help me make this story as good as it can possibly be. I thank her for that, and the fact that she recomended the book to me... even though it gave me couple of sleepless nights.


	2. Chapter 2

A cold wind swept over the burnt earth, scaring small rodents that were trying to find a hiding place.

That just made the girl sitting nearby smile sadly. It seemed no one had it easy in times like these. She watched them scurry down the hill, taking in the scenery. There used to be endless forests stretching in every direction... Or at lest that's what her mother told her. It was hard to imagine, sitting there, seeing only blackened tree stumps among the sea of ashes.

She didn't remember much from the war. All she knew were stories passed only by the word of the mouth. Stories of war. Of bombs, fires and destruction. Her father and older brother whom she never met going away... She couldn't even remember the point at which her mother lost the last grain of hope that they'll ever come back.

But not everything was lost. She smiled at the thought, seeing the first green specks poking their heads from the devastated earth. Somehow, the gentle seeds managed to survive all that had been done to them, and now were finally turning into plants. They would grow, and in fifty, sixty or even a hundred years, again there will be forests streatching as far as an eye could see. The nature survived, and so did they. Her mother was still with her, and they had still many years in front of them.

A sudden cry torn her from her thoughts, and she turned just in time to spot a falcon flying away with one of the mice she was watching a moment ago held firmly in it's claws. She sighed, all thoughts of a better life going away with the falcon, bringing her back to the present. To _this day._

Today, was her twelfth birthday. Usually it meant fun and celebration. With the life they had, another year alive really meant something. Especially for the elders and the kids. But not her birthday. At least, not any more.

Three years ago her birthday became a hated day. It didn't even matter that the custom was introduced recently. She could see it in everyone's eyes. Pity, sadness and sometimes even anger. For all intents and purposes, even if no one said it out loud, she became the girl born on the Reaping day.

"Mary Ann!" he mother's voice rang over the hill, sounding in this instance much more eerie than the soft and loving sound she knew so well.

"Coming..." she muttered, her bad mood deepening as she stood up from the stone she was sitting on and started to climb the hill. Compared to what she was about to witness, even the burned out forest seemed to be a pleasant picture.

Her mother was waiting for her in front of the house. It was clear that she was crying. Still, she was trying to be brave for both of them. She didn't say anything. Probably because she didn't trust her voice, but on the other hand, there wasn't much place for words either. Saying that it will be alright wouldn't convince anyone. Not on this day.

Everything that had to be said was right there, in her eyes. All the sadness, fear and loss she felt. In the end, she mustered one single sad smile and kissed her on the forehead, before finally making the first step.

There was no hiding just how tense she was, making each step stiffly, as if it hurt her physically. It wasn't enough that it was Reaping day. It was the first Reaping her little girl would be included in.

They walked throught the village holding their hands, comforting each other with little squeezes.

Village. That was kind of an overstatement, Marry thought, looking at the buildings which she passed many times before, but only not seemed to notice. Only couple of buildings were still habitable. The rest was either destroyed, or barely standing, reluctant to collapse into a pile of rubble.

That was probably the only hobby people had in the village. Betting just when another building will fall. Sometimes, a person who won wasn't there anymore to collect the prize. Probably it happened more often than not.

After the last smoke cleared from the sky, a man with Imperial sigil came to their village. Or was it King's emblem? She didn't know for sure. No one seemed to care just who ruled the country. There were more pressing matters that everyone had on their mind. Food, fresh water, shelter just to name some.

But that didn't stop the man from coming. He said that there were mine shafts in the hills, and, just like that, every able man became a miner. At first everyone was happy. Prospect of food for the job they did made everyone's day. Well, that was before the first accident. It seemed that without any training, experience or even proper tools, coal mining wasn't the easiest thing to do.

Saying nothing about minimal rations they got in return.

When they got to the city square, Mary was reminded just how small their community was.

Instantly, her gaze fell on the building that, with every passing day, was slowly growing out of the earth. She didn't knew what it was supposed to be. A keep? Emperor's summer house? A new town hall? Looking at the large boulders it used in it's construction, only one thing was sure for her. It was mean to last an eternity.

Aside from it, there were only burned out wreckages surrounding them. No one lived in the city any more, keeping to their huts. Gathered like that, right next to the growing colossus and in the centre of what could be called an empty field, the small group of people seemed even more pitiful than usual. Sometimes it seemed that they were slowly dying out. They were barely able to keep their population level.

She knew that it was bad to think that way, but sometimes she was glad that there were so few of them. More people would mean less food for everyone. As it was now, saying goodbye to someone and not meeting them in the morning was a common occurrence. To common for anyone's standards.

She looked over the small group of malnourished, dirty and beaten down people, knowing too well that she was one of them. And in this sea of faces as destroyed as the earth they lived on, immediately, _they_ stood out. Dressed in their clean clothes with that emblem of power, they watched, leering, snarling and sneering at the crowd slowly dribbling into the plaza.

The _Army_.

That's how they called themselves. Not that it fooled anyone. Everyone knew who they truly were. Murderers. People who stayed at the back during the wars, scavenging the spoils of war, and came out only when any kind of person able to fight became a luxury resource.

Mary watched them, and her thoughts drifted to the man who became their ruler. Some said he was mad, showing just how many deaths he brought. Others thought that he had to be a genius if he was able to control the mess of a world they lived in. But, watching the men he commanded, seeing that he could control even them, Mary was sure of one thing. He was certainly someone to look out for.

A loud sound reverberating in space made her aware that _it_ was beginning. She looked towards the unfinished structure, and saw a woman standing on the platform, right next to the microphone. Nearby was a man with a camera.

Mary often heard that when her grandmother was her age, those were common things. Nowadays, it was hard to find something that worked. Still, they always brought those strange devices to show what was happening here to people far, far away.

"Let us begin," the woman said through the speakers, gaining everyone's attention..

There was no need to do any counting. They were sure enough that everyone was there. In the end, all they wanted were tributes. If only two eligible kids came, they would take them without the lottery. That's why it's the people who keep the tally. If someone refused to come, they wouldn't have the sweetest life when the town's people got to them. Army wasn't needed to keep order. They were here only to stop anyone from changing their mind after the slips were already picked.

The woman walked swiftly towards the ball holding one part of the names, her expression alone stating that she wanted to get it done as soon as possible. She picked one name, broke the seal as she returned to the microphone.

"Marry Ann Swiftwater."

She just said it. Without much thought, deliberation or emotion. The woman simply called a name, like she was checking attendance in class. How much more off-handedly you can state a death sentence?

Mary thought about that, until the squeezing on her hand didn't start to be painful. She turned to look at her mother, but when she noticed her standing there, with eyes closed and slightly shaking her head in denial, the name finally registered in her mind.

Her eyes went wide, and she threw glanced every other way. The dogs of war were already on their way, sniffing for the one that reeked of fear the most. Someone gave her a push, and that was enough to make her go, run, like in the worst nightmare, trying to get away from the devils hunting her.

But when she got to the stage, when she climbed the steps, it didn't end. She didn't wake up, and there was no one waiting with their hands open to save her. The nightmare continued, with the woman boring into her with that impatient gaze, urging her to hurry up to the chopping block.

Although her legs felt like if they were lead, she managed to move them, coming right next to the woman, one small step at a time. There, she had her first glance at the crowd, and it was enough to tell her that her fate was decided.

There was no one who would look at her. She recalled how she, herself, lowered her gaze every time she saw a tribute picked. Now, seeing it from the other end, it chilled her to the bone and she prayed for at least one person who would look at her. To meet someone's eyes and not feel so alone. But she knew the custom. The silent goodbye. They were thinking of her how she used to be, locking her in their memory.

From the moment she set her foot on the stage, she wasn't theirs any more. She was gone, and she would never return. She knew it was easier that way...

Loud thumbs of heavy boots hitting the stone were the only sounds that permeated the silence. The woman passed her and made couple of steps towards the second bowl...

Only to be blown away when something hit the exact spot. The crash, as if a sudden explosion struck nearby, was enough to make Mary drop to the floor and protect her head with her hands. When she mustered enough strength to pry her eyes open, the world seemed to be full of cards hanging in the air. Through that mist she managed to take glimpses of the chaos outside.

Everyone was watching something on the stage, with the _army_ frantically trying to get to the stage. What were they all looking at? Mary asked herself, and when she turned, her gaze fell on the boy – no, man – standing right above her. His body was built like a man's, but, then why did he have a girl's face?

It took some time for her stressed brain to conclude that what she was staring at wasn't a face, but a white mask, smooth to the point that it could act as a mirror. Where did he come from? That question ended her stupor, and she started looking around again.

He couldn't have come from the crowd, and there weren't any stairs on either side of the stage... Her eyes widened. The crash, as if something smashed the bowl... She looked to the walls of the unfinished building they were in front of. Had he just jumped of the scaffolding?

A hand gripping her arm was as sudden and unexpected as being picked up firmly, but gently. She haven't noticed what really happened, having to chatch herself when she nearly fell, unsteady on her feet over the sudden position change.

"I hope I'm not too late," the man stated as if he dropped in for a cup of tea. Although he was whispering, his voice seemed to reach everyone in the crowd. But that could be due the complete silence that fell upon the plaza. Even the army men who previously seemed so tough stopped at that.

"Who are you?" the woman leading the show asked, "I demand you show your face!"

The man turned from the crowd to look at her.

"If you wish so," he said in the same whisper, placing the hood of his traveling coat on his head.

Even while standing right next to him, Mary couldn't see a thing. That probably was fortunate, since the woman that previously was so adamant, suddenly turned green and stumbled couple of steps back, showing that there was a good reason why the man wore his mask.

"There was..." the man stopped, weighting his words. With his mask in place again, he turned to get a good glance at her, "An explosion," he finished.

Then he bent towards the pile of glass that remained from the ball, and picked something up. He presented the slip to the woman, and, although reluctantly, she took it, breaking the seal quickly and looking at the name suspiciously.

"John Smith," she read in the end.

Mary frowned at that. She didn't knew the guy. Even thought methane explosions happened, it wasn't probable for anyone to survive it. And then there was the name. Her mother often joked that it was the most common name anyone could come up with.

But if everyone came to the same conclusion as she did, then why no one said anything... She thought and immediately reminded herself of where she was.

The Reaping.

She looked towards the crowd again, and was shocked to see that everyone was staring at the newcomer. No one would say anything. One less child they knew would get killed this year. A stranger agreeing to get slaughtered was a blessing that didn't happen often enough to pass it.

The only reward he would ever get from that was that look. The acknowledgement. We see what you do and we appreciate it. We _will_ remember.

"Coming?" that mysterious whisper startled her, and she noticed the person who claimed to be John Smith, standing nearby, with his masked face tilted in a curious way, the only indication that he was looking at her. She frowned, following him off the stage and towards the station.

He didn't acknowledge them, and she was too confused to remember about the men who were supposed to represent power, trailing behind them. She simply followed the man walking in front of her, as if he was on a pleasant stroll, while her mind swirled with questions.


	3. Chapter 3

It was like a dream. A humongous beast took her from her home and carried her swiftly to her doom. The horrifying images that kept blinking in front of her eyes showed her exactly just how limited word devastation can be, when conveying the idea behind it.

The only problem was, Mary knew she wasn't asleep. She sighed, closing her eyes and wishing for the vision playing out in front of her to disappear. When she opened them again though, the ruined landscape kept zooming past, right behind the glass she was leaning on.

She had never considered that travelling at this speed was possible. Still, no matter what she thought, the roaring monster kept pulling the endless lines of carriages without a delay.

Railway – that was what people called it. A never-ending serpentine of steel tracks, connecting various districts of the empire. Those tracks used to connect most of the cities on the continent, or at least that's what people said.

Now, there was only this single one working. The remnant of the forgotten times. Formed from the pieces that were left from the original outline. Repaired with whatever people could scavenge. And the monster that was now carrying her forwards was the only one operating the line. The last of it's kind.

It was no wonder that their district got only scraps and leftovers for their work. With it being the last stop on the line, with so many people to feed standing in line in front of them, there wasn't much left. Whatever there was, had been travelling for days already...

She sighed, knowing well where that train of thought will lead her. She diverted her gaze, trying to take a break from the depressing thoughts that kept plaguing her from the moment she departed, most likely never to come back. That left her staring at the quarters she had been presented with for the trip.

It wasn't much. A bed, a desk with a chair and couple of shelves in a cabinet to hide her belongings. It was still more than she had to call her own in her short life. She had also been given new, clean clothes, and someone delivered her meal to her room every couple of hours. All three of them in a day.

At first she didn't know what to do with all the food, since she couldn't handle the portions. Still, she wasn't raised to waste anything that was edible. She got used to it after couple of days, but then the guilt came in. She often sat there, staring at her plate, a bile rising in her stomach at the thought that she stuffed her face, while her mother starved, sitting in their home helplessly, thinking about a daughter she had just lost.

"Mum..." she whispered, feeling the tears coming.

Earlier she thought that having what she had now, she wouldn't want anything ever again. A safe place, with enough food to not worry for the future. What a glamorous picture that was. Now, though, she knew better.

It was true that life with her mother wasn't easiest. They had nearly starved to death on couple of occasions. Chilled to the bone during some winters when their hut gave out at the worst moment possible. Still, no matter what, they always had each other. That comfort. Those tear filled smiles when they hit a particularly hard spot. Oh, what would she give away to have that again.

Instead, on the days that seemed to be the last ones she would ever have before her death, she was all alone. She had no one.

After the Reaping day, when they go on the train, all she did was to sit on her bed, numb with the thought of a death sentence hanging over her head. It was the next day already before a knock broke her out of her stupor. Still, it took her quite a while to get to the door and open it.

A man was waiting outside, telling her it was dinner time.

"Will you come to the table, or are you going to eat in your room like the other Tribute?" he asked, sneering. His tone said plenty of what he thought about John's extravagant behaviour. Demanding to be served his food...

In the end she was too intimidated by the unknown man, too scared to go there all on her own, too afraid of who else she might meet at the table to step out of her room. The last she heard, John also haven't been seen from the day he locked himself in his room.

That left her all alone throughout the whole journey. The only time she saw other people, was when they stopped to pick other Tributes. She watched them, and noticed that even if the land they lived on changed, the people did not. Every person she saw had been just as feeble as people in her home town had been, with the same sense of hopelessness visible in their eyes.

She haven't met any of the Tributes either. They were given their own carriages. Divided, probably to make sure that the Games wouldn't start until they were supposed to.

Mary sighed, turning to look what another bend in the road had in store for her. There wasn't much more she could do under these circumstances. But when she finally registered what was outside, she froze.

It was a town. The first one she had ever seen. The districts didn't really have towns any more. Just half repaired buildings serving major roles, with hastily raised living quarters between. Not in this one though. The houses where everywhere she looked. The tiles covering the roofs made it seem that a gigantic red carpet had been placed over them, reflecting the high sun in places.

She watched with wide eyes as it come closer and closer, and knew what it had to be.

The Capitol.

There was no other option. Sure enough, after the train made the final turn and high walls of the city enveloped them, movement sounded throughout the compartments. It wasn't long before the door to her room had been opened, and she was asked outside. Seeing John walk right past her room, she hurried after him, feeling that staying near her fellow Tribute was the best thing she could do right now.

He went to the exit, and stopped abruptly at the roar that met him once he got there. He made his way slowly down the steps prepared for them, and she could finally see the crowd gathered at the train station. People were held back by the barriers guarded by the King's enforcers, but still called to them, stretching their hands out as far as they could.

Dumbstruck, she followed Smith down the steps, and it was only when she was about to bump into him, that she noticed that he had stopped at the base of the steps. He was standing there, looking at the person who rushed in their direction.

At first the man moved as if to grab them, and forcibly drag them after him. One look at John made him reconsider, and he just urgently asked them to come after him. There were horse-drawn chariots waiting for them.

The horses knew their route well, and, once set on their way, took them along the path that was left cleared out for them. No matter how many turns they took, there was always a crowd waiting for them. Calling to them from every corner and balcony. Squeezed into every alley.

They probably thought nothing of it. Cheering the Tributes as they were dragged through the town must have been normal to them. But it made Mary hang her head and wish she was deaf, so she could get away from their shouts.

She had seen people in amok. Fear and panic was mostly the source of it. But it was the first time she saw people overwhelmed with blood-lust. Their wild gazes as they watched the Tributes pass. Their animalistic calls, persuading the participants of the massacre that was soon to happen to make it even sweeter.

It made her tremble. She hugged herself, trying to be as small as possible, so the angry heard raging nearby would miss her somehow. She shook her head slightly, hoping to clear it of of all the evil that was trying to get into her mind.

Then a whisper startled her.

"Why do you worry so much?"

She jumped, having forgotten that there was another person standing right beside her. She raised her eyes, just to see him standing there, carefree, watching the road with arms casually crossed over his chest. It was as if the raging crowd was nothing to him. At least not something he should be bothered about.

"W-What?" she stuttered, sniffing audibly.

"Why do you worry so much?" he repeated. "You're dead anyway," he added, turning and watching her with his piercing eyes when he did so.

She gapped at him, not understanding where this came from, or why was he telling her this now.

"It isn't because you're a Tribute now," he continued, seeing her inability to speak. "You've been dead for a very long time, but still haven't figured it out yet. You're not alone in this either," he said, once again turning to the road, and glancing at the crowd.

"Everything you see, everyone you've ever met. They're all dead. Gone. Maybe not now. Maybe not even in a year, but eventually, everything will perish," he said matter-of-factly, once again turning to look at her. "That's the reality we live in."

His voice was the only thing in her mind now. She didn't know why, but she knew that what he was saying was important. She hung on his every word, trying to understand. To find his trick. His method how to have a death sentence over your head and not care.

"So, I ask again, why, in the world when death is just a matter of time, you're worrying so much? It seems such a waste to squander your time like that. I'd rather enjoy my last moments," he said, shrugging like if it was the easiest thing to do.

"Enjoy how?" she just had to ask.

He cocked his head to the side in that strange manner that left her wondering about what could possibly be running through his mind.

"It's taking too long," he said in the end, and without a pause, stepped over the railing and got on the back of one of the horses.

"What are you doing?!" she hissed, her eyes wide.

"Coming?" he asked, turning back and extending his hand to her. Once again he used that tone of voice. That one that indicated that there was nothing wrong in the world. Like if he was just having a pleasant day...

It reminded her of how he behaved on the Reaping Day. He asked the same question back there, and she knew the result would be the same here. The question was just a courtesy. He would go off with or without her, it wouldn't matter to him in the least. She was the one to decide if she should follow his lead or not.

She scowled, but grabbed his hand quickly, not sure just how long he'd be willing to wait for her. As much as she hated what he was doing, showing off like that, pressuring her the way he did, the thought of staying there, alone, now, that all the eyes were upon them, would be a far worse alternative. Not only because of how it would make her feel, abandoned and alone again. She learned from the earlier Hunger Games that the Tribute that had been singled out was killed first more often than not.

His steady hand helped her settle behind him without much effort, and with two quick moves, he undid the straps that chained the horse. Without a warning, he kicked the sides of their ride, and the horse jumped into an instant gallop.

She clutched John's waist desperately, closing her eyes in fright, holding on for her dear life. In her panicked state, with wind whistling in her ears, deafening even the crowds roar as they zoomed by, all she could think was to not fall off. Then John's words came back to her.

She heard them in her mind as clearly as if he was whispering into her ear. The words kept playing over and over in her mind, mixing with the overwhelming sound of the world around her. It combined into a cacophonous wave, growing and filling her into the brim. It penetrated her, and eventually hit the spot in her that she had stayed as far away as she could.

Her well of the torments and worries. Everything she ever locked away, trying to convince herself that it was going to be fine in the end. The wave crumbled the feeble defences she had risen, and crushed the glass cage, letting all the horrors free to roam her mind. All of the pain. The sorrow. The bane of her life. The darkest nightmares she had ever conceived mixed with the monstrous wave.

In an instance, she saw her life as it really was. All the hardships bared to her eyes, without her mind, telling her it isn't so bad, trying to cloud her judgement. Her delusions of a dignified life broke when the memories swirling in her mind showed her exactly how low a person can get just to cling to their measly existance.

From within her, a rush of pain and sorrow burst, trying to find a way out. It made her catch her breath in fear she may drown. It made her heart race as her blood turned into acid. It set her skin ablaze, burning her every nerve to the point where she felt numb. It was so much that she no longer was sure if the roar she heard came from the outside, or was it her, screaming.

'No!' she wanted to yell, but her voice refused to obey. 'It can't be so!' she didn't want to believe even when she knew it to be true. 'If that's really my life, then I'd rather be dead.'

And then, as if someone flipped a switch, it was over. The feeling was gone, and she was left all alone, submerged in complete darkness. There was nothing left. Nothing mattered in the world.

With that thought came an understanding. She now knew what John meant earlier.

She was dead. It was certain. But it wasn't a curse one had to be afraid of. Maybe it was to people that lived before her. But those times were ancient. Gone, just like the people who created that mentality. With the lives the people had nowadays, death became something completely different.

It was a promise. A promise that, no matter what you make with your life, whether you rebuild this world or just kick and scream at the injustice, she will be waiting. At the end of your road, when you'll come to her battered after all the hardships of life you've been through, Death will be there.

She will take you by the hand and lead you to that perfect clearing. Lay you to grass on a sunny summer day and kiss your head while you go to rest for the last time. And pain will be no more.

She saw it now. She saw it so vividly that she wanted to run, rush to the moment of their meeting.

Was it why John decided to become a Tribute? In a world where a person can't live with dignity, what other choice is there than to die with honour? Might as well get on with it...

'You squander your time,' stopped her, but it wasn't John's voice this time. Instead, it was hers. She stopped, trying to make the sense of her own thoughts. She slowly worked through the mess in her head, piecing it back together.

The things she worried about earlier – her mother, the life she had being taken away from her – it all seemed so distant now. It was as if it happened eons ago, or even not at all. An image without a context, like a scene from a half forgotten dream.

Now, looking at those memories, she was able to notice the other side of the coin. The silver linings of those vast stormy clouds. Her mother's melodic voice when she sang old songs. A soft breeze on her cheek after a day of hard work. All those little things she missed amidst the troubles that clustered her mind.

That would be nice, Mary decided. To not be bothered by anything and experience only those sweet little details most people miss. She could do that now, she thought with relief. Not mind anything but the things she liked. What bad could happen? She was dead no matter what she did, she thought, and that thought brought a feeling of calmness that she never experienced before.

Slowly, as if waking from a long sleep, she opened her eyes. A wave of colours met her, making her think of a beautiful painting.

The people in the crowd were just blurry spots as they flew by. The noise was still there, but dull now, as if coming from far away.

She turned her head and glanced over John's shoulder when he bent forward to make the horse go even faster. The wind hit her face, making her close her eyes when she felt how it cooled her hot skin. She took a deep breath of that sweet air, that felt like if it was the first she had ever had. She felt her heart beating to the rhythm of the racing animal. Her mind started working again, powered by the exhilaration she felt. The adrenaline. The rush. The pleasure she felt...

She was reborn. Locked in the old world, but staring at it with her new eyes. And deep inside her, in the empty spot that once housed her darkest fears, that calmness settled. Just a feeling first, but in a matter of seconds it grew to a deep sense, a complete understanding, which permeated every inch of her body.

She stopped clutching his body desperately. Soon enough she stopped holding onto him at all, spreading her arms wide and letting the wind take her. She wasn't riding a horse any more. She was flying. Free and unburdened by the worries of this mortal coil.

She basked in the sense of freedom that only men who truly lost everything ever enjoyed.

She haven't even noticed when she started laughing. A first full, natural and carefree laugh she had ever had in her life.


End file.
